Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Mike parked his RAM 3500 in his driveway and used the clicker on his visor to raise the garage door. His Fat Boy and Suzuki GSX called to him, but he didn’t have the energy to ride tonight. He never would’ve shown the guys how exhausted and beat up his body was too, but he hurt from head to toe. Fuck, even his fingers ached as he grabbed his lunch cooler and messenger bag out of the passenger seat and went inside.
Like a robot, he didn’t bother with turning on the lights until he was past the dining room and in the kitchen. Mike emptied his lunch containers in the sink and washed them along with his hands and splashed some cool water on his face. He scrubbed away the wetness with a rough paper towel, taking in the silence of his nice home. It was a decent-sized, two-story, three-bedroom house that he’d worked his ass off to pay for the down payment, something he was quite proud of, especially coming from the meager, depressing upbringing he’d had.
At the time Mike had purchased it, he thought that he and his ex-girlfriend, Erin, were about to plan the rest of their lives there together. And at forty-eight, Mike was more than ready to throw in his bachelor card, feeling his days of screwing random chicks were done. He didn’t want kids, and thank goodness, neither had Erin. They’d discussed a dog or a few fish, maybe those cool-ass neon yellow ones or something. Instead of growing a family, they had their goals set on traveling and seeing the world, but she had been too damn impatient.
It was great to dream and have aspirations. But goals without working hard to achieve them didn’t mean shit. They’d never come to fruition without some action put toward them. Erin wanted the big home and luxurious getaways, but she didn’t want Mike to work the long hours so that they could. Stockley Lawn Service had yet to make a name for itself at the time, and now that it had, Mike had the income and the home but no one to share it with. He didn’t miss her; he missed… he missed something. He was beginning to wonder if taking a trip to Europe by himself was an option. Why should he wait?
Mike always sought out easygoing, cool-natured women as girlfriends to help him stay level-headed. Two angry people in a relationship was a recipe for devastation. Though he was hot-tempered and quick to jump, Mike was still capable of listening when he had the right person talking in his ear. Someone he trusted. Someone whose voice was soothing to him. Only one person had ever fulfilled that need for him. One man had been different.
Mike pulled a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, because what else could he do as his mind forced him back down memory lane. It wasn’t often he thought of Jameson because whenever he did, his chest would pound, then burn as if someone were piercing him with a branding iron. He was the one man who’d ever gotten under his skin. That made him feel things he didn’t think he was capable of. And Jameson had done it effortlessly without Mike even noticing. By the time he did realize what was happening to him, it was too late. He was already hooked.
Mike’s smile grew wider on his face. I wonder where the hell you are right now. Stealing some other man’s heart, I guess.
That’s why the club—well, Mike—had nicknamed Jameson “Slick.” He was smooth, calculated, and untraceable. Moved as fluid as water. Always so damn calm and collected, and he and Mike had clicked the second he’d joined the club as a Prospect. Hell, Jameson had even slithered his way up in the ranks faster than possible… until he was sitting right beside Mike as the SGT at Arms.
He chuckled but wasn’t the slightest bit amused as he reflected back on those days. There was nothing “good ole” about them, but they were his past, and he respected it. Loved it. But he didn’t miss it. He’d long ago forgotten about the toxic gang life, but he’d never in his life forget that man. The one who’d opened his eyes to a whole other world. To a real connection. A rougher, stronger one that he could never quite capture with a female. Not once. And he was beginning to think he never would again. But he’d be damned if he didn’t feel a similar sensation around Rayne.
Rayne. With those light eyes and silky hair that Mike wanted to run his calloused fingers through. He imagined pulling it and— Fuck! What am I doing? He’s a sex addict.
Mike didn’t want to make Rayne’s life more difficult than it already was. He didn’t know him well, but it was evident that he still struggled with his recovery now and then. It sounded like he had a hard time being around lovers and watching outward displays of affection. Mike remembered Rayne sitting on the porch alone the other week, breathing softly with the setting sun’s golden rays glistening over his alabaster skin. Mike realized he could’ve stood there all evening while Rayne meditated and practiced how to be a peaceful man.